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ECHOESoftheNIGHT 


On my pillow awaiting sleep. 

Little rhymes would tease and keep 
Wide-awake, until thus combined 
This crude and simple book of rhyme. 


BY 

ELLA FIELD FOWLER 


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PEEKSKILL, N. Y. 
1911 



Copyright, 1911. 


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Printing by 

Francis Emory Fitch. Inc. 
New York 


© Cl. A 2 S D a G 0 





This Book is respectfully dedicated 
to my esteemed cousin 

C. DE P. FIELD 


Look not upon this book of Rhyme 
With jest or scorn, ’tis not sublime 
Or Lyric great, so pray be kind 
If meter does not suit the line 
And to all errors, albeit blind. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


St. Catharine. 

Retrospection 

The Jacqueminot Rose . 

Sunshine 

The Marble Hill 

Waiting 

Spring 

The Sea 

Bethlehem 

Lake Mohonk 

The Pirate 

The Stolen Princess . . . 

Valentine 

We Two 

The Mountain Brook. . . 

Night 

Old Ireland 

St. Patrick's Day 

Memorial Day 

Lullaby 

To the Easter Lily 

Fate 

Valentine 

At the Fountain 

Love Song 

The Old Chief 

Jack and the Bean Stalk 

Babyhood 

Reverie of a Nun 

To My Valentine 

This Age 

Admiration 

Life 

The “Eyrie Inn” 

Robin Red Breast ...... 


. 7 
. 8 
. 9 
. 11 
. 12 
. 14 
. 15 
. 16 
. 17 
. 19 
. 21 
. 23 
25 
. 25 
. 27 
. 28 
. 29 
. 30 
. 30 
. 31 
. 33 
. 34 
. 36 
. 36 
. 38 
. 37 
40 
. 42 
43 
. 44 
. 46 
. 47 
. 48 
. 49 
, 52 


5 


4 


ST. CATHARINE. 


O; holy hours within thy wall. 

We listen there to the Saviour’s call 
And leave our care, e’en great or small. 
To raise our praise to thee. 


’Tis there at thy supreme mercy seat. 
Our Saviour at thy Altar meet 
And humbly kneel at his blest feet — 
We praise thee evermore. 


May all thy sister saints in heaven sing. 
As unto thee our oblations bring — 

At Evening prayer on earth confessing 
St. Catharine’s worthy praise. 


7 


RETROSPECTION. 


How well I remember the Andirons so bright, 

A hickory log blazing, the dim candle light. 

The spining wheel weaving, the whir of the loom. 

With snow of mid-winter and laughing full moon. 

As the lads and the lasses chassez to and fro. 

The old folk were knitting as in days long ago. 

The old arm-chair by the clock in the hall. 

Are fond recollections I love to recall. 

And the church in the valley with pillars so white — 

The deacon if sleeping, the children’s delight. 

Yet the lads and the lasses chassez to and fro. 

Still the old folk were knitting as in days long ago. 

Right merry the party, the fiddler he said, — 

“Now choose you your partner, the one you would wed.” 
Well pleased were the lasses, as around they did spin. 

In the days of their childhood, at the old village inn. 

All the lads and the lasses chassez to and fro — 

But the old folk were knitting as in days long ago. 

How sweet were the doughnuts our grandmother made; 
Cherished still is the spring so cool in the glade. 

Content and so happy in the chimney the crane. 

The iron pot was swinging again and again. 

As the lads and the lasses chassez to and fro. 

Asleep were the old folk as in days long ago. 

8 


THE JACQUEMINOT ROSE. 


June, the month of sweet roses. 

The bride, young and fair — 

Now list, to the story 

Of the red Jacque in her hair. 

Sweet moments fly fast, 

And seem but a day. 

When sailing with the wind 
In your own happy way. 

But with lover, imploring 
Each hour for his fate, 

June, the month of Jacque roses. 

Seem to come “rather late.*’ 

With Violin, sweet and clear. 

He would warble his lay 
On the balcony serenading 
In the old Spanish way. 

Soft his songs, fervent uttered. 

Oft were carried by the breeze. 
While the stars above were gleaming 
As the moon peeped through the trees. 

Through the trellis most faintly 
Came a sweet, quick reply, 

“Have courage while waiting; 

Do not murmur or sigh.” 


9 


“When the Jacqueminot’s out 
’Twill be the signal,” she said; 

“I will then set the day 
On which we will wed.” 

Just a dash of the showers 
Which fall in April so free, 

Seemed to speak to the roses 
Red and fragrant to be. 

The May party and fete 
Were now over and past; 

All the linen’s collected 
From the looms of Belfast. 

Great the trousseau imported 
Would most dazzle one’s eyes, 

All flimsy and flouncy. 

As if dropped from the skies. 

In the Cathedral so ancient 
Sweet music pealed forth. 

And with roses so fragrant 

For the bride from the North. 

With a hurry and flurry. 

Flowing o’er with great glee 

Swiftly off in a “taxi” 

To the steamer they flee. 


10 


The “Red Jacqueminot” rose 
And June sealed her fate. 
With a millionaire now 

In a “royal castle” in state. 


SUNSHINE. 

*Tis a dance of fairies on the green, 

As Nature laughs in glee. 

Away with sadness from the scene 
Entranced in ecstasy. 

Thanks for the youth and joyous years. 
Ah, soon enough we weep. 

Far better than the bitter tears, 

If Sunshine we could keep. 

O, could the Sunshine ever last 
And sorrow fade away — 

So bright one could forget the past 
Beneath its soothing ray. 


II 


THE MARBLE HILL. 


Beyond the tumult of the busy street 
At rest, a city on a hill. 

Peace and quiet reign supreme 
Upon those hushed and still. 

Forgotten graves of Puritan days. 
And tombs of marble fame, — 

With each other seems to speak 
And shudder as the sun doth wane. 

At rest for ages some have laid. 

The babe so loved in arms; 

Yet each its own dear precious ones, 
We know their many charms. 

The storms do beat upon this hill. 
But earth protects its own. 

The marble cross, and simple block, 
Just each a memory stone. 

The flowers in summer bloom so fair, 
TTiey chase the tear away. 

Upon the hill of marble white. 

Where you and I must lay. 

As years roll on in rapid pace. 

The marble city stands, — 

To welcome pilgrims traveling on 
To join the heavenly bands. 


12 


Ay, yes, it is a home for all 
With streets of massive stone; 

Some covered with the moss of age, 

But one stands all alone. 

Away from home and kindred friends. 
Upon a distant shore. — 

A stranger in a foreign land 
To the marble hill they bore. 

A cannon ball with just a word 
They placed upon his grave. 

He was an exile here on earth. 

And exile on his grave. 

A mother found her way across 
The ocean’s foaming deep. 

And to the marble hill was led. 

Where he was laid to sleep. 

With violets fair she planted there 
The word Love in the earth. 

Then underneath with forgetmenots 
She traced the date of birth. 


13 


WAITING. 


Upon the bank of wooded green 
A graceful maiden sat; 

Beneath the bluff her frail canoe. 

With book and lingerie hat. 

“He cometh not,” she said, forlorn, 

“A message I will leave. 

Upon the paddle by the lake. 

How could he thus deceive?” 

The wandering barque was just afloat 
When he belated came. 

With gestures wild he looked around 
And believed himself insane. 

With wounded pride he pressed his heart. 
His feeling could not hide. 

“I’ll rise to fame for her dear name. 

And die, yes, by her side!” 

The paddle on the shore he spied. 

Quick read the brief “farewell.” 

Then downward o’er the rocks he sprang 
As swift as wild gazelle. 

With downcast eye he seized his oar 
In grief with swelling heart. 

Without one word, unseen, unheard, 

That she should thus depart. 


14 


“O lovely maiden, how heartless cruel 
To leave me thus!” he said. 

When through the woods a “whistling girl. 
The one he thought was dead. 


SPRING. 

When the peepers in the marsh we hear. 
It brings to us a springlike cheer. 

And from the tree the robin near 
Chirps out his pretty lay. 

While in the meadow little flowers 
Peep up from early showers — 

Which brighten up our bowers 
When spring returns again. 

And so we search and stray. 

Admiring nature’s simple way. 

As thro* woods the bluebird gay 
Doth sing his merry song. 


15 


THE SEA. 


I love the wild sea with its magic roar 
Ever telling new stories o’er and o’er. 

And the fairy-sprite, which roams the sea. 

Gathering tales so weird to me. 

It has its mystery, none can know 
How far or where its waters flow. 

But here and there they drift around 
In crooked inlet or deeper sound. 

I love the sea, nay even more. 

Than rocky crags which shield her shore; 

’Tis there in summer beauties gay. 

Upon her sand while time away. 

And Cupid he doth linger there 
To seek the maid both young and fair. 

And with his skill of magic art 
He soon doth win a transient heart. 

Some time at evening on a bold lofty crest 
When weary of dreaming I have sat down to rest. 

The sea in its frolic, with the wind rather gay. 

Would picture the mermaids as with the breakers they sway. 
In green and in blue, they splash thro’ the water. 

True nymphs of the sea, and each her own daughter. 
Then with a glitter of the moon’s yellow beam 
They would vanish together, and lonely I’d seem. 

i6 


O come back ye fairies and stay with me now ; 

In rapture I’ll join you, if you’ll tell me just how. 
Return, for I am yearning to cross o’er the sea — 
I’ll stand on the cliff till you beckon to me. 

The sea-gulls are waiting to join in our flight. 

As we enter the sea so sparkling and bright. 
Away we will follow the tide as it flows. 
Enchanted and happy, just whither it goes. 

BETHLEHEM. 

In the little town of Bethlehem, 

Upon a night so clear. 

The Shepherd with his flock did watch 
A Star bright red appear. 

It seemed as if a flame of fire 
Appearing in the sky 
O’er Bethlehem’s hills, behold, afar 
The light could never die. 

Good Shepherds wondered at the Star, 

Sweet tidings it did bring; 

The Prince of Peace, a little child. 

At Christmas now we sing. 

This little Babe, divine, adored. 

So humble was His birth. — 

He was the bright and evening Star 
That came to dwell on earth. 


17 


Sweet peace and joy at Christmas-tide, 

O blessed and holy night. 

The Prince immortal came to earth 
On wings of radiant light. 

The children now with gladsome hearts. 
Each their little gifts receive. 

And listen to the story old 
As told on Christmas Eve. 

The evergreen with twinkling lights, 
Happy children grouped around, — 

Ring out the bells, ’tis Christmas time. 
You hear throughout the town. 

Ring out the carol, old and young. 

Sing the story o’er and o’er; 

A merry Christmas-tide to you. 

Ring out from door to door. 


i8 


LAKE MOHONK. 


In tlie mountains, restful, peaceful. 
Lake Mohonk with beauty lies. 
Winding drives ascending graceful 
Greet your eye with great surprise. 
Old Shawangunk, strong and faithful. 
Guards this water night and day. 
As a daughter very youthful 
In his brave and warlike way. 


In a skiff, romantic, charming. 

O’er this water grottos find. 

Ancient caves we enter trembling 
By the mighty were designed. 

Gorgeous pageant, long remembering 
Beneath the pine and “Laurel Ledge” 
Wild ravines and sunset blending 
As at frolic in the hedge. 


Oh, these mountains, grand and rambling. 
As they watch the sun arise. 

Staunch and strong have long been standing 
Pointing heavenward to the skies. 

As this silent water telling 

Of its romance most sublime. 

Came a deer through hemlocks roaming 
As of one in olden time. 


19 


Once upon “Sky-top” when venturing 
With the elements in a war. 

Just a merry party staging. 

As the winds did wildly roar, 

With the rain in torrents pouring. 
Panoramas met our eyes. 

Most romantic gardens hanging. 

Amidst the tempest of the skies. 


In the night Shawangunk watching 
Over lake and mountain side. 
Saw Mohonk and maiden parting. 
Swiftly too, they both did glide; 
As of vapor disappearing. 

Leaving not a sign or track. 

Just a purple light ascending. 

Not a message has come back. 


To the southward faintly calling, 
Minnewaska’s echo hear, — 
“Lone and weary I am waiting 
In my wigwam sad and drear. 

To my father I go willing. 

On the journey of my life. 

When the sun is gently fading 
From this world of bitter strife.” 


20 


From the wigwam once abiding. 

Now a palatial palace stands. 

Not an Indian warrior training 

In his paint and feathers grand, — 

But the “Artist” gaily painting 
And the traveler seeking rest. 

With the “Author” most inspiring 
You will find among its guests. 

THE PIRATE. 

’Twas on the Isle of Samana the pirate so bold 
Stealthily crept to the castle, so ancient and old. 
With his vessel in darkness, he sailed far away. 
Having stolen the Princess, to her father’s dismay. 

He found a queer island deserted and lone. 

And built for this Princess a castle of stone; 

The cocoanut tree was growing here wild. 

So he built from its shells a house of quaint style. 

With turrets and towers and dungeon so deep. 
Where only the ghosts would ever dare sleep. 

And this was his home. “The King” of the isle. 
With treasures all stolen in the dungeon he’d pile. 

Her father well knew this pirate would dare 
To steal his fair daughter, and never would care. 
Unless for a ransom his jewels he would give 
For the sake of his child he wanted to live. 


21 


So one day unaware, he sailed to this port. 

But danger, — a cannon, he heard the report. 

Now the balls were so large, and curious in size. 
He gathered one up just to keep for a prize. 


And what did it prove, but a cocoanut ball. 

Very hard I assure you, but no fire at all. 

The King from his turret came trembling then out. 
With an air of defiance and rather in doubt. 


When the voice of his daughter he knew well and dear 
Resounded from the castle, in a song very clear. 

TTiey captured the pirate, in the dungeon he fell. 

But the rest of the story I cannot now tell. 


22 


THE STOLEN PRINCESS. 


In the silent night the bandits stole 
The little Princess Jean; 

They knew rare gems and glittering gold 
Would be offered by the Queen. 

Her only friend, a mocking-bird. 

Upon a desolate shore, 

Was sent to carry just a word. 

The King had heard before. 

It flew away one rainy day — 

And found her native land. 

With little Pages bright and gay 
At games upon the sand. 

A brief message she did send, 

“Return as sun doth rise”; 

The bandits then are lazy men 
With weary sleepy eyes. 

It led the boat to a rocky shore, — 

Then called to her again — 

“Love sing with me *11 Trovatore,* 

“Thy voice they’ll know and send, — 

“Armed soldiers of the King’s Brigade 
To rescue thee and take an early flight. 

Ere these bold men should make a raid. 
If chance a vessel they should sight. 


23 


“Til sing with thee, the sweetest note — 
Ah, a King hath ever heard; 

And o’er the sea our sons shall float, 

’ With echo word by word.” 

“But you must take me with you, Jean, 
To the land from whence you came. 
If I restore you to the Queen, 

Your friendship I shall claim.” 

Come let us sing the merry note, 

Of some old song of old, — 

The King doth know your magic throat 
Can warble songs untold. 

So listen to the mocking-bird, 

Shrill out the voices ring, 

The music thrilling far was heard 
As together they did sing. 

(Song) 

My playthings now are laid away 
In the castle by the sea. 

The pirate in the dungeon lay. 

And freedom comes to me. 

I see the smile and hear the voice, 

The thought I cannot bear — 

But now we soon shall all rejoice 
And kneel again in prayer. 


24 


/ 

VALENTINE. 

A “Valentine” I send to you 
Sweet “English maiden” fair, — 
A token of my truest love, 

But wait! I do not dare 
To tell you half in ardent words 
Your “gifts” I much admire — 
And if you’ll be my “Valentine,” 
Why send it back by “wire.” 


“WE TWO. 


9 9 


A balmv afternoon in summer. 
Wooded slopes on every side. 
Hark! the echo of a gunner, 

Just while asking, “Be my bride?” 
Towering crags of Nature standing 
Against the sky with shadows play; 
But my lady is more charming 
In her little gown of gray. 


What care we for golf and bowling 
When the forest has its charms; 
Just “we two” enjoy the strolling 
And in turn are spinning yarns. 
To the spring we wander often. 
Drinking from the loving cup; 

But her heart I cannot soften — 
Must I — Must I give her up? 


25 


Labyrinths, bewildering, around us: 
What if we should lose our trail. 

In the jungle tramping thus. 

Each step urging to prevail. 

Just “we two” upon the boulder 
In the shade of forest trees; 

Then I said I now shall win her 

Sylph sweet, of summer breeze. 


“Alas!” she said to the earnest wooer, 
“This is but a mystic dream; 

Would that men were constant, truer, 
‘Eternal love* is not their theme.” 
Hark! the crashing of the thunder, 
Darkening sky we did not see. 

By the boulder then I won her, 

Happy hearts “we two” and free. 


26 


THE MOUNTAIN BROOK. 


Ah, little brook, you seem so gay 

As down the mountain you wend your way. 

Nay lonely not you seem to be. 

With Nature wild, the Chickadee — 


Upon a bush with berries red. 

And Bobolink, another said. 

The gray squirrel sprang from tree to tree, 
A partridge shy, the humming bee. 

The water gleamed so sparkling clear, 

A wild grape vine was trailing near, — 
When hunter through the tangled brush. 
With rifle cocked, so swift did rush. 

Forward down the mountain’s springing, 
Against the rocks its echo ringing. 

Away, far away, o’er unbounded space. 
Swiftly, yet swiftly to the sea you race. 


Now dashing and splashing thro’ green, shady nooks. 
How jolly and dancing the mountain brook looks. 

Amid flowers and rocks asleep at its side. 

On down the mountain the swift brook doth glide. 


27 


NIGHT. 


How soft and quiet all doth seem. 

When lights are dim and low; 

And weary eyelids close in dream. 

Then on and on we go. 

High in the tree top the old owl screamed. 
From the bough of the sighing pine, — 

And the fire-flies brilliant gleamed, 

At the sound of the midnight chime. 

There stood at a gate a dreaming maid 
That darkness could just conceal, 

A happy youth, who said “Good night,” 
And then a kiss did steal. 

The youth was night and the maid was day. 
Yet one kiss more he asked, — 

Then swiftly the night rolled far away. 

And it was day at last. 


28 


OLD IRELAND. 


I love my old Ireland, 

And the lakes over there, — 
The Shamrock and thistle. 
And the maids which are fair. 

The “Blarney Stone’* ancient. 
We kiss once a year. 

To make us just happy, — 
And full of good cheer. 

The green of our country 
We wear for our ties. 

When we ship for America 
And say our “Good-byes.” 

So Hurrah! for old Ireland, 
The land that is dear. 

We love our old country 
And are true and sincere. 


29 


ST. PATRICK’S DAY. 


Say do your remember, 

The Green Emerald Isle, — 

And the Killarney Castle 
Of the true Irish style. 

How we danced and were “merry” 

In Dublin that day, — 

Just a kiss for my “Cherry” 

And you said, “O, go way.” 

MEMORIAL DAY. 

The brave for deeds their country gave 
Are honored on this day; 

You hear the sound of muffled drum 
And fife, the dirge the band doth play. 

Ye silent warriors, we honor thee! 

Our country thou did save. 

With manly tread ye took the stand, 

TTe coward or the brave. 

Thy home and sweethearts yearning for 
While fighting on the field; 

Ye fell with glory on thy brow. 

Amidst the cannon’s peal. 


30 


f 


The tasks of war ye took with pride 
And conquered for us all. 

Oh brave and valiant soldiers ye 
Who answered to the call. 


Our country saved by thy brave deeds. 
To-day we bow in grief; 

A flag we place upon thy grave 
With flowers and sacred wreath. 


A tribute now we silent pay 
To soldiers of the past. 

Who fought upon the battlefield 
And won the fight at last. 


31 


LULLABY. 


Sleep, sleep, little one sleep. 

Mother is lonely while vigil keep. 

Watching so gently the bonnie face. 

Highland lassie of Scottish race. 

Sleep, sleep, darling sleep. 

Father is sailing far out on the deep 
Thinking of bonnie wi’ me to-day. 

Blow gentle breeze and bring him this way. 


Sleep, sleep, little one sleep. 

Night now is coming and mother doth weep. 
Weary of waiting so long for him dear, 
Heavy my heart, that bringeth a tear. 

Sleep, sleep, darling sleep. 

Gane down the sun, at the beach we meet. 
Father is coming his ain child to see. 

Back from his fishing to bonnie and me. 


32 


TO THE EASTER LILY. 
(Ode.) 

Hail, beautiful lily! 

Bermuda’s sweet flower. 
Surrounded by ocean, 

Tby home hidden bower. 

An emblem of purity. 

Fair virgin of the soil; 

O, glorious type of Easter-tide, 
To men on earth who do toil. 

The lily so stately 

From Bermuda’s coral shore. 
By soft wafted breezes 
Is brought to our door. 

On Easter it tells us. 

To young and to old. 

Of Christ’s resurrection 
As precious as gold. 

Easter joy to the lily! 

All churches proclaim; 
Majestic and saintly, 

It praises His name. 

A symbol of Easter 
In white spring attire 
With radiant fragrance 
We all do admire. 


33 


With chimes swettly pealing. 
The lily stands fair 
In the chancel, so meekly 
From “Sunny land” air. 

Alleluia, the chorus; 

He is risen to-day. 

While angels in triumph 
Rolled the rock far away. 


FATE. 

Far out at sea a lightship white 
Was tossing to and fro; 

With tempest playing hide and seek. 

Its anchor firm below. 

Steadfast, serene, she stands her post, 

Sail on! Her light doth say, — 

Look out for rocks and coral reefs. 

At night I lead your way. 

It was the roughest gale of years. 

That lashed and swept the sea; 

But the radiant light, glowing ever bright,-^ 
Seemed as if a friend to be, 

O’er billows wild its light doth dance 
Upon the sea of fate, — 

“Ho! Ho! A wreck in sight,” 

Exclaimed the stalwart mate. 


34 


A rocket through the sky did flash. 
Oh! hurry on — too late I fear. 

The ship is sinking on the reef. 

The life boat now is near. 

All signs of life had disappeared. 
When the sailor brave and bold, — 
Upon a raft an object saw — 

But it was still, — and cold. 


Still clinging to this frail support. 

He lifted in his gentle way, — 

Into his life boat, then he saw 
That fate had won the day. 

It was his wife, deserted long — 

“Ah! Nell,” we die together, 

I cannot make the lightship now 
Through this tempestuous weather. 


A frenzied wail, he uttered low. 

It seemed the darkest night. 

And then the snow white waves closed o’er. 
And they — were lost to sight. 

The world is large, the sea is broad. 

But fate we ne’er can miss. 

No sighs of pain or laughs of joy 
Can change such fate as this. 


35 


VALENTINE. 


Be happy, O fair one, and always gay. 
“Valentines” we send this day. 

Some from far, and some from near. 
Guess who sends you this my dear? 
Through the post it whirls away. 

Do not refuse my heart, I pray; 

But if you admire your gallant Sir — 
Respond at once, do not defer. 


AT THE FOUNTAIN. 

Within the garden square one morn 
A little Syrian maid — 

With water-jar and sandaled feet. 
Seemed just a bit afraid. 


An artist, with his palette bright, 
Deep thought upon his brow. 

This very subject longed to paint, 
But did not know just how. 

Ah! then her portrait he did sketch. 
As from her water- jar. 

The cool refreshing water drank 
Beneath trees o’er reaching far. 

36 


His joy! o’erflowed the fountain brim, 
He had sketched the maid at last; 
With all her beauties, rich displayed, 
Now upon the canvas cast. 

O Syrian maid! how soft the smile, 
And bright the drooping eye. 

So modest at the fountain stood 
Beneath the azure sky. 


THE OLD CHIEF. 

In the forest o‘er the camp fire 
Sat the rugged Indian Chief, — 
With his navijo around him 
Strong as iron in his belief. 


Dreaming of the wars’ and battles 
And the white men he had slain 
Going thro’ the grand old canyon 
As he followed in their train. 


With the same old warlike spirit. 
He would venture far alone 
With his cunning crafty nature 
And his heart as hard as stone. 


37 


He would lead them to the mountain. 
By the pass they were to take, — 

As a guide he treacherous told them 
But his promise, soon would break. 

With his hatchet and his arrow 
He would hunt the live-long day. 
Slay the rabbit and the sparrow 
In his cruel and heartless way. 

Then around the blazing camp fire. 

As the Sun fell in the West, 

To the “Elysian fields” of Eden 
He was called unto his rest. 


LOVE-SONG 

(Or Confession to the Dasiy.) 

Does he love me, Marguerite, say. 
In the sweet old fashioned way? 
Once he told me on the sly, 

A little home he soon would buy. 
Very restless too he seems — 

I wonder what he really means. 
Said for me he would willing die, 
Folly, I think it was to sigh. 


78 


Asked if I in future years. 

Could refrain from bitter tears. 

Now tell me, is this really love 
That just falls down from heaven above 
Oh! Daisy tell me is it true, — 

Love is just as pure as you? 

So I sure will know his song 
If he sings it sweet and long. 


When the “Violets” begin to come. 
Then you know he loves you “some.’ 
If he sends them every day. 

More he loves you, he will say. 

If he brings them from the train. 

Ever thoughtful he will remain. 

Should the price be very high. 

Watch him, closely, might he sigh. 


Little traits you thus can find. 

In your lover sincere and kind. 

But if now another friend. 

Around the “Violets” begin to send, — 
Anguish soon will fill the air, 

One and all, look out, beware! 

Daisy will he love me long. 

Or by Spring forget his song? 


JACK AND THE BEAN-STALK. 


Now Jack he was a naughty boy. 
He went to sell a cow — 

For poor old mother blind and lame 
And let me tell you how, — 


He met a butcher on the way. 
Then sold her for some beans; 
Well Jack an awful thrashing got. 
He knows just how it seems. 


He threw the beans just o’er the wall, 
And in the garden patch, — 

As mother on the door-sill stood. 

With hand upon the latch. 


They landed here and they landed there, 
But one deep in the ground; 

And in the morning such a vine 
As Jack in the garden found. 


It reached way up into the sky. — 
Now Jack he well could climb. 
So with a fairy up he went. 

And found a giant kind. 


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He gave him pennies for himself 
And money for the poor. 

Then, “good-bye” to the giant said, 
The stalk is strong I’m sure. 


But as he downward found his way, 
The giant in close pursuit — 

He with his hatchet cut the stalk. 

Off fell the giants boot. 

It was a mighty shoe in size. 

All filled with coin so bright, — 
That Jack into a trance then fell 
Overwhelmed with his delight. 


The fairy whispered in his ear. 
Jack ’tis for your mother too — 
You’ll be a giant great some day 
And wear that very shoe. 


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BABYHOOD. 
(To Richard.) 


Little darling that we love. 

Truly innocent from heaven above, 
Angels guard thee night and day. 
Heavenly Father thus we pray. 

Sleeping sweetly on thy bed. 

Just a little tiny head. 

Dainty hands of pink and white. 
Pretty baby, O so bright. 


Just a winning cherub smile, 
Knowing not a care or trial; 
Little eyes so blue and light. 
Softer than the stars at night. 

How he shouts aloud v/ith joy. 
When he has a brand new toy; 

If he should rise up to fame 
More his praise we will acclaim. 


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REVERIE OF A NUN. 


In the cloister all the day. 

Matins over, silence, pray. 

Penance and confession make. 

Fasting for our soul we take. 

Often in the chapel still. 

Joyous thoughts return until, — 

The sun bows low and fades away, 
Amid the shadows of the parting day. 


Cloud and tempest banished there. 
Solitude we seek and prayer. 
Guided through a heavenly way. 
Within the walls of ashen gray. 
After Vesper, even-song. 

On our knees we ponder long. 
Gentle thoughts still come to mind. 
Of different paths of all mankind. 

Scattered as our lot has been. 
Avoiding here a world of sin, — 
Clad in black so meek and lowly. 
Chanting vows, so sweet and holy. 
Here we choose our life and stay. 
Yet thirsty for the friends away. 
Nay, too late! why now despair. 
Crowns and pearls for us prepare. 

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TTie “Angelus bell” is ringing low. 

And the breeze seems telling a tale of woe. 
Banished from the world a Nun — 

Striving to leave naught undone. 

Mystic silence fills the air. 

As we daily tread to prayer. 

Heart to heart our souls are bound. 

Noble deeds oft too are found. 

Refuge from this world of sin. 

Guarded here by those within. 

Like the “Edelweiss” aiming so high, 

From the snow-capped Alps to the purple sky. 
In the nunnery for us designed. 

Hallowed thought, and peace of mind. 

Just a Reverie of the twilight hour — 
Contentment, peace. Almighty power. 

TO MY VALENTINE. 

Dearest my heart is bleeding. 

From Cupid’s arrow dart. 

Tell me not that love is waning. 

Or that we must ever part. 

With jealous love I looked above 

In an aerial ship, I saw with rage — 

Amid the floating pretty clouds 

A “Miss” and “Knighted Page.” 


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Far through the sky I saw you drift. 
Then land upon a steeple. 

It was upon the planet Mars 
With those peculiar people. 

Now if you’ll be my “Valentine” 
And your heart is true and free ’ 
I’ll send a little bunch of “Pinks” 
A greeting love to thee. 


I languish and my heart beats faint, 
Until you homeward fly. 

Ay, if wings and I could soar 
And follow in the distant sky. 

For I love — Ah! thee alone 

O, fluttering heart do not betray 

My look, or think it strange 
I ask you in this way: — 

To just return from planet Mars 
And be my “Valentine” 

Then from the goblet we will drink, 
TTie ever sparkling wine. 


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THIS AGE. 


Great the children of this age. 
Phonetic spelling all the rage 
Without hats they pass you by. 
Do not laugh or even cry. 


Babies are not rocked to sleep 
In these days of logic deep. 

But upon a golden bed 
There they lay their little head. 


Children make their M’s like this, — TTT 
Suppose a curve more from the wrist. 

Off to college soon they go, 

Professors then before you know. 


And they read before they spell, 
Quite as quick and just as well. 
But to vote, they long must wait. 
Twenty-one in New York State. 


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ADMIRATION. 


I saw her but once on a Summer’s day 
Even then my heart did seek, — 

Her face so lovely with beauty fair 
Ah, then I heard her speak. 

The voice although unknown to me 
Recalls a tragic dream; 

The features too, with golden hair 
Methinks that night I seen. 

Oh! light divine! why hide thy home 
And whither hast thou gone — 

I worship at thy vacant shrine 
And sing my plantive song. 

Come back in dreams again to-night. 
And nestle on my heart. 

Breathe just a word of fervent love 
And hope, ere you depart. 

Nay tarry for a little wihle 

And meet me in the land of sleep 

Oh, sweeter far that glorious hour 
Its memory fond I keep. 

I passed my hand just o’er my brow. 
When there the flower so sweet, — 

Awaited me in dreamland town 
Then knelt just at my feet. 


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Once, twice, thrice, she spoke 
And told of men untrue. 
Then like a fading garden rose 
She stately said ‘ adieu/* 


LIFE. 

The ladder of life how hard to climb 
As step by step we proceed. 

Still on we travel, yet sometime rest 
Then up the rungs we speed. 

O, heavy the load and oft we shrink. 

Back down the ladder, before we think. 

It seems so narrow and rough in spots. 
While through the briars we tread. 

More cheerful if kinder deeds 
And sweeter words were said. 

Our life is rather a rigid school — 

Each day one lesson more by rule. 

’Tis not a flowery garden for all 
There are many eyes that weep. 

But still the smiles efface the sorrow 
If the ladder is not too steep. 

So the visions of life as they come and go 
Vanishing at last like the hasty snow. 

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Tlie curtain falls we know not when. 
We reach that zone called “sleep.” 
Protected by an unseen hand 
Beyond the earth to keep. 

Away from all the weary care 
Paradise, — at last, we ask to share. 


THE “EYRIE INN.” 

Within the realms of altitude high 
Yes, beyond the wooded hill. 

Far above the Hudson’s shore 
So placid, beautiful and still. 

And here above the river’s brink. 

Its miles of scenery seeking, — 

So quiet in its novel way 

That time seems all too fleeting. 

Thus I mused on a Summer’s day. 

With nature sweet abiding; 

Away from all the wordly din 
E’en the Sun, was modest hiding. 

I had read marvelous legends of old — 

Of the phantom so ghostly in white 

Tliat flittered about thro* the moss and the wood 
Like a specter o’er filled with delight. 


49 


Like a shadow it appeared unto me, 

In the dense of the forest so wild 

The “Hermit” in vesture of white 
With eyes as meek as a child. 

In terror I dared not to move. 

Then heard a laugh as of joy. 

With his hand a circle he waved 
As agile and quick as a boy. 

For then, his Lute he embraced, 

In melody rare and clear; 

While like a mute I stood. 

On the mountain side in fear. 

'‘Now listen! my child” he implored, 

“To the strings of my old fashioned Lute — 

Look not at my ghostly attire. 

For white I prefer for my suit.” 

(Lute and Song.) 

“Do they think of me at eve. 

Of the songs I used to sing? 

Is the harp I struck untouched? 

Does a stranger wake the string?” 

And then the “Hermit” passed away. 

As with a sunrise mist; 

The phantom seemed a spirit lone. 

But I looked far back, and list, — 


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I hurried to the “Eyrie” door — 

In fright I told my tale 

Of spirits, o’er the mountain top 
Above the sylvan dale. 

Another told a story twice as weird. 

Until the guests in turn had each a story told. 

Some in a witty style with joke 
And some were Indian cold. 

The old Inn echoed far above the passing sloop 
Like music full, of merry glee. 

Llntil the lights disappeared like stars. 

As each an apparition or ghost did see. 

“Old Timp” the Eyrie well doth shelter 
Through all the Summer days. 

And o’er its trails like smiling dreams 
The sunbeam halts, and plays. 

Health and rest at this domain 
Where the gentle zephyrs blow. 

An Eden to the weary guest. 

The happiest spot I know. 


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ROBIN RED-BREAST. 

Bright pretty bird where have you spent, 
The Winter prithee say? 

You seem so happy on the branch, 

^ As to and fro you sway. 

Yet many miles away from home 
Have you been so gaily singing. 

Perhaps within the cotton field 
Your very song was ringing. 

Beneath the sky of lovely blue. 

Did you frolic all the day? 

And bask in Southern balmy air, 

So far from snow away? 

And now back to the chestnut tree 
You seek your last year nest, — 

Where soon the little timid birds 
With red upon their breast, — 

Will fly among the branches hidden, 
And then upon the ground 

Their cherry ballad gaily singing. 

As they hop about around. 

They will linger near the cottage. 
Trilling music wild and sweet — 

Oft so early in the morning 

Wake one from the deepest sleep. 


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One copy del. to Cat. Div. 


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